


He can hold a smile for as long as you require (even longer)

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memories, Pre-Slash, Snippets, and Gary being conflicted, and it's not an actual relationship in a romantic way really, it's Roy against the world, not much actually happens, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-22 04:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: He laughed like a freak for at least two minutes straight, leaning back against the wall behind him, not able to stop the inhuman noises coming out of his mouth. "Fucking hell," he shook his head after he was finally able to catch his breath again and he looked up, tears of laughter still in his eyes. Roy was watching him with a slightly raised eyebrows as if he wanted to look amused, but not too much, and it was almost as if Gary could hear the sight and the disappointed 'Jesus Christ, look at yourself'. He had to bereallydrunk if Roy was looking at him like this.He chuckled again. Roy's piercing green eyes were still fixed on him.Green?He never dared to guess the color before.





	He can hold a smile for as long as you require (even longer)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the lyrics to the song "Roy's Keen" by Morrissey (an amazing song, by the way!). The song has basically nothing to do with Roy, but it's just a play on his name, completed with a few hints ("into each corner" or "Roy's Keen, oh" sounding like "Keano" etc.) The lyrics mentioned in the name of the fic are: 
> 
>   
_Roy is a star_  
_And I am a satellite_  
_(But that's alright)_  
_He can hold a smile for as long_  
_As you require (even longer)_  
_Roy's keen, oh, Roy's keen_  
_Roy's keen, oh, Roy's keen_  
_We've never seen a keener_  
_Window-cleaner_
> 
> Morrissey would often change the last line during live concerts from "We've never seen a keener window-cleaner" to "We've never seen a keener midfielder" to complete the mayhem. Also: Triggs is the name of Roy's dog. She was the one dog that Roy went famously for a walk with after he came home from the World Cup 2002.

He surely wasn't gonna cry. When was the last time he did anyway? He forgot already. Maybe when the boys from the other class beat him up on his way home from school when he was seven or eight years old. Probably. Yeah, it hurt, but the psychological pain was always worse. Knowing he was stupid enough to let them - and knowing that maybe he should have tried harder to fight back - that was the real burden; the bruises eventually faded away.

He won't have any bruises now, although with them, it would have been easier. There weren't any bruises, but sure as hell, there was a lump in his throat. He managed to tell his agent he'd call him later and get in the car right on time. In the rearview mirror, he saw it - the tears. Jesus Christ, he _was_ crying. _Not really_, he thought. You know it when you're crying. These were just watery eyes and -

He wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. Right. 

_For fuck's sake_.

He folded his arms on the wheel, unable to watch his own reflexion any longer. This was it. This was the end of his road. He felt sick.

The phone in his pocket buzzed and he immediately flinched, reaching for it with an immense frustration and rage - _just fuck off_, he thought about the so-far unknown person calling. _Just fuck off now_. The immediate reaction was to throw the phone out of the window, or just simply against it to see what would happen - but maybe it was an important call, maybe it was the agent again, maybe there was some change or unexpected development of events.

It was just Gary._ Jesus Christ, it was always Gary._

_You too, Neville. Fuck off._

He denied the call and dropped the phone on the passenger’s seat.

\- - -

_"Roy - " Neville sat down heavily on the bench next to him with the bottle of beer in his right hand and took him around the shoulders with the other one. "Roy, how're you feelin'?"_

_He must have had a couple of those, Roy thought, judging from the not-very-precise pronunciation of his teammate. Gary also prolonged his name into an obnoxiously sounding "Royyyyyy" without even realizing it. _

_"Barcelona - here we come!" Nev raised his hand with the bottle in a victorious gesture._

_He really was a lightweight, even when it came to drinking. It wasn't just beer that the guys have been pouring down their throats that night, of course not, but still, Gary managed to look worse than anyone else. His face was all flushed and he spent the last five minutes trying to kiss everyone in the dressing room, which was sometimes met with an understanding and a kiss in return (well, it was Becksy's case anyway) or a disgusted frown. Nonetheless, Gary didn't seem to mind either of those. He took a great liking in the phrase "Barcelona, baby!" and he made it his official drinking toast for tonight._

_"Oi, stop this fucking smirking, Roy - "_

_Gary burst into yet another wave of laughter; so loud and annoying that even Nicky shot him a deadly look from across the room._

_"Jesus Christ, Gary - "_

_"Nah, nah, nah, you need to drink more!" Gary shouted in an unnecessary loud manner and handed him his own bottle._

_There were various things that Keane hated, and being hugged by a drunk Gary Neville was definitely one of them. He couldn't really blame him now, no, not after this win, not now when they got into the final - _

_They did. He didn't._

_He decided to drink to that - silently, without a proper toast - and he took a gulp from the bottle handed to him by Nev. Gary seized the moment of lost concentration and kissed him on the cheek, sloppy as a drunk man can be, laughing like an idiot. "It's a fucking dream!" he blabbered, laying his forehead down on Roy's shoulder. His whole body was shaking with dying laughter._

_Well, he'd probably kissed everyone from the team now, including Ferguson. Roy decided to leave it like that and took another gulp of the beer._

_"You need to smash them like you did tonight," Gary continued, still giggling like a little girl._

_Roy swallowed the drink slowly and handed the bottle back to Neville._

_Oh, Gary._

_"The yellow card, Gary," he heard himself say._

_Neville didn't laugh anymore._

\- - - 

Gary sent a message later, saying the same old words Roy's known so well from their time together in the dressing room. _How are you feeling?_

_How, how, how the fuck can you probably feel when your career practically ends? Fuck you and your obsession with feelings._

He doesn't want to snap and actually tell Gary where to go. After all, Gary is the only one who seems to care about him now.

And he is hurt, no matter how much he forces himself to _not feel_ that way.

\- - -

_They were drunk, they were both definitely drunk that night; otherwise, they wouldn't end up in his and Becks' room in a "drinking companions'" embrace, laughing their asses off. Gary knew he was worse, he was always well aware of his own terrible behavior, and he knew he would regret this tomorrow - he should have gone to bed earlier, he should have left the bar with Becks probably, and go to sleep early, like a responsible adult - but he always seemed to make the worse decisions available. He stayed with the other guys, drinking heavily, and ended up being practically dragged into his and Becks' room by the captain, once again, as it happened before.  
_

_"For fuck's sake, Gary," Roy would always tell him, with his own share of alcohol in his veins. "No wonder you play so shit every week."_

_And Gary always laughed like an idiot because it was true, he was irresponsible, he was dumb, he was absolutely unprofessional - but he shared this all with the other guys, those who would never leave before midnight, those who just lived like in the good old days, those who would sneak back in the hotel in the morning, wasted and exhausted, just to somehow survive the day. But they would always give 110% on the pitch afterward. It was almost as if this was their way of dealing with the exhaustion on the pitch, during the training, and during the games as well. They would drink and party, but then, after all those nights spent chatting and laughing and drinking, there really was a feeling of a true camaraderie among them, and that was something Gary appreciated the most. _

_"Don't wake Becks up," Roy warned him when they finally stumbled in front of the door. Ah, the captain was speaking up. _

_Gary leaned against the door and tried to reach for the keys in his pocket. "It's here," he muttered, handing the keys to Roy to show him he's the one more suitable for unlocking the door now. Roy just smirked and did it in the first attempt._

_Gary was stunned. "What the fuck - how did you get the first key right? I always pick the wrong one - "_

_"The luck of the Irish."_

_That was when they both started laughing hysterically without any boundaries. Gary was basically crawling around the walls of the small hallway they got into as he closed the door behind them, and then he began coughing up as he was trying to silence his laughter to actually not awake David who was probably fast asleep in the bedroom._

_"Jesus," he managed to say, hiding his face in hands. _

_He laughed like a freak for at least two minutes straight, leaning back against the wall behind him, not able to stop the inhuman noises coming out of his mouth. "Fucking hell," he shook his head after he was finally able to catch his breath again and he looked up, tears of laughter still in his eyes. Roy was watching him with a slightly raised eyebrows as if he wanted to look amused, but not too much, and it was almost as if Gary could hear the sight and the disappointed 'Jesus Christ, look at yourself'. He had to be really drunk if Roy was looking at him like this._

_He chuckled again. Roy's piercing green eyes were still fixed on him._

_Green?_

_He never dared to guess the color before._

_Was it green? He almost leaned in to have a closer look._

_"Goodnight, Gary."_

_\- - -_

"I've been trying to reach you yesterday."

"I know, Gary."

"Why didn't you answer?"

He glanced at Gary in silence as if such a stupid question didn't even deserve a response. Meeting with Gary for a bit of a chit chat was the least he could do now, but since going out, into a bar or a pub, wasn't the best idea, they could only sit in Gary's car. It had a strange feeling of loneliness about it, as if they were some outcasts, living on the edge of the law, who are not even allowed to show up in a local pub. Well, he was used to it; he just never thought he would drag Gary along into this state. Gary wasn't like this, he wasn't a loner, he wasn't the one person facing the others; he always thrived in the company of other players, he needed to feel included and loved.

"All the guys are sorry," Gary continued when he understood there wasn't an answer coming. 

Roy nodded. 

"Nobody wanted it to end like this."

"_Gary, do me a favor_."

"And I'm sorry I didn't speak up - I should have."

"No, no, Gary - "

"No, I should have!" Gary's voice went an octave higher when he got passionate, and this was just the case. "I should have said something! You know, you always said that coming onto the pitch felt like going to war and I always said I would follow you into combat if needed - "

"It's all just a load of bullshit - "

"I believed in it! I honestly did!"

Roy rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, what's done is done, and that's the end of that."

"It matters to _me_."

"Alright."

"Don't you feel anything? Any kind of...remorse? Or regret?"

"Regret over what?"

"Leaving."

He went silent for a while, staring somewhere into the distance. Regrets? No. Definitely not. He never wanted to look back and think about what might have been or what should have happened. He knew it was usually painful, and he decided to spare himself from this torture. "I am not _leaving_. I was pushed overboard."

Gary shook his head, careful with the choice of his next few words. He felt like balancing between his two responsibilities and loyalties - towards the manager whom he loved and respected, and towards the captain whom he adored and idolized. "What do you think it's going to be like now?"

"It's gonna be _different_."

"I can't imagine it."

"You're not leaving."

"I can't imagine you not being there, you know?"

"Gary, please - you know I'm not into all this - _sentimental_ \- " He didn't want to say _'shit'_ to hurt Gary's feelings but it had to obvious what was on his mind. " - _stuff_."

"You don't have to play this game with me, Roy."

"What game?"

"You know, this whole..._I'm a man and nothing can touch me - I will never shed a tear or regret what I've done -_ "

Roy smirked at Gary's parodying voice. Well, he was going to miss this too. And he did shed a tear or two, and he was hurting and he did regret some of the things he said - but he couldn't say that, could he? That wasn't like him, that was something his wife would listen to but not any of the guys he's been in the club with, why would he bother them with the burdens of his mind, Jesus Christ, everyone has those, and everyone needs to find a way to fight those by himself.

"You think that's a game?"

"Well it's not _you_, I'm sure of that."

Roy contemplated his options for a while. "Gimme your hand."

Neville looked a bit shocked by this suggestion but slowly, he obliged. Roy squeezed his hand, and Gary had to bite his lip for a moment because it hurt, and the pain was sharp and sudden, he didn't expect it - but then, all he could feel was a strong grip and a strange connection he's never felt before. Roy was crushing his fingers but in a rather careless way, as if he wasn't trying to, as if that was a subconscious act that he couldn't control. Then there was something else that Gary noticed - his hand was shaking, and the shivers were transmitting to Gary. _It wasn't even shaking though_, he realized immediately, _more like some inner vibrations or - _if Gary actually believed in that kind of stuff_ \- some strange energy. And not a nice kind of one_. 

The connection paralyzed him, in fact, for a while, because for a second or two he had thought he understood it all and he knew what Roy felt. The touch, the grip, and the wordless exchange of glances were enough; he got a bitter taste of anxiety, insecurity and the feeling of failure, all exposed to him without any explanation or assurance he got it right, and by the one person he would have never expected it from.

"That's how I feel, Gary."

Gary understood it, or at least he thought he did. Roy was shaken on the inside.

"I'm so sorry."

"Jesus, Gary, it's not - it's not like I'm dying or - " He shook his head, unable to find more relevant examples. "Worse things happen."

_You're fucking crying on the inside_, Gary wanted to scream, and he wanted to shake Roy's shoulders as if to remind him _I'm here, I know you, you basically showed me a minute ago, you're hurting and you shouldn't face this alone, you can tell me everything, we've been together through everything, we know each other inside out, why won't you speak to me? You never let me closer - _

"If you need anything - " he started carefully, bur Keane interrupted him immediately.

"Like what? A shoulder to cry on? Oh, please - "

"You don't need to be so defensive!"

That (and a slightly raised voice) seemed to have worked; Roy looked him in the eyes, impressed by the sudden power of his voice.

"No, Gary, I really appreciate it - "

"Is there anything I can do for you then?"

He expected a sharp '_Yeah. Leave me alone_' in return, but Roy looked out of the window and smiled in an almost slow-motion manner.

"I - I just don't want us to - stop talking or - " Gary stuttered. What was he supposed to say to not sound all sappy and emotional? I don't want us to grow apart? I don't want us to...not be mates anymore? I still want to see you at least once a week? Jesus that sounded so wrong - but he meant it, he really did, that was all he wanted. He couldn't imagine having this man out of his life now. Roy was a leader, a captain, a man who made you feel 10 feet tall, as he said, and it was all true, he was the rock, the one you could always count on, the one who would never let you fall behind, the one who was perfect for the _battle_, as he always painted every match. The leader of their little group of eleven soldiers in a field; he would drag every single one of them into a safe place, get them food and water and ammunition and win the battle, had they actually been an army unit. Gary would trust him with his life without any hesitation. "I still want to see you every now and then, you know?" he finally said after a long, awkward pause.

"You can walk a dog with me from time to time."

"I don't have a dog."

"But last time I checked, you had two legs."

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course - " It felt like a great weight fell off his shoulders and he laughed out, relieved. "Great."

"Alright."

It was suddenly much easier to breathe.

\- - - 

_"You want a photo with it?"_

_Roy looked horrified, he immediately took his hands off the Champions League trophy as a guilty man caught right in the midst of his crime. "No, no, definitely not."_

_"Come on."_

_"No, Gary, it's not - it's not for me."_

_"What - the trophy?"_

_Neville actually had to shout; the noise coming from all around the dressing room was insane, there was the sound of champagne popping and the sound of tens of cameras rolling and snapping, and some of the guys were chanting by the bench - and the contrast between the players either in their kits or half-naked actually, and Roy and Paul in their shirts and trousers, looking all official and posh, had its bitter undertone._

_"Come on! I'll take a picture!" Gary started looking for a camera, turning around and checking whether any of those were available._

_"Get the fuck outta here."_

_"What the fuck, are you not happy?"_

_Roy silenced him with only a wave of his hand. _

_Later that night, he actually found Keano in the hallway, pacing back and forth while rubbing his face. He dared to ask 'What's wrong?' though the words were difficult to pronounce by then, and Roy turned the whole situation around._

_"Why are you not inside?" he asked Gary._

_"I just needed to get out for a while - it's crazy in there - "_

_"Andy's singing, right?"_

_Gary laughed like an idiot once again, barely even catching his breath. He didn't remember much of what happened later that night._

_\- - - _

"All the guys say hi."

"Thanks."

It didn't really sound quite honest but Gary decided to not pick on that and rather enjoy a pleasant walk outside with Roy - and his two dogs. It was exactly like he imagined it - a silent, private moment where they could talk without the fear of being watched by some fans or, god forbid, by someone from the press. Gary could imagine the highlights. _Gary Neville and Roy Keane plan to overthrown Ferguson. Is Roy Keane up for revenge?_

Roy looked relaxed, and, in fact, more content now. All the bullshit about him, all the extra stories about his character that has been published in the last weeks, it all looked ridiculous now as Gary watched him throw a short stick in the distance for Triggs to run after.

"Any new plans?"

"Not yet. I might enjoy some time off and just...be around, with the family, you know, and with friends - Then we'll see."

"I hope you won't move too far away."

Roy frowned. "I wouldn't want to. I somehow grew to like Manchester. Well, Cork's always an option but so far - I don't know."

"Manchester is a great city."

"Yeah."

Triggs ran back with the stick in her mouth, panting heavily.

"You had an amazing career in here."

"Yeah." Roy took the stick from Triggs and patted the dog's head. "A decent one, yeah."

Gary had to smile. _God, he loved this man_. 

The smile froze on his lips.

He loved him.

He loved him much more than he would ever admit.


End file.
